Lost In Time
by WitchWithLibido
Summary: Alexa Simmons' father mysteriously disappears and she is transported to an alien planet. Her only hope is to survive. With a golden watch in her pocket, she treks across the foreign land, fighting off aliens. When she finds a man called the Doctor, with the same goal as her, will she be able to trust him? Or will the strange, magnetic feeling driving her towards him scare her away?
1. Burning Nightmares

_A woman ran through a blurred forest. Her red hair whipped in the wind, flying like fire. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, chest heaving. She stumbled often, tripping over raised tree roots. Her golden orbs were frantic, twitching from left to right. Pale skin, painted black and blue. Everything felt red and raw. Smoke billowed from a far off distance, and screams of terror and agony filled her ears._

 _Despair coated every step she took. She was filled with so much pain. They were all dying. Everyone was dying. Soft cries escaped her chapped lips, her hearts pumping miles a minute._

 _A shot rang out. It echoed, bouncing off trees. A blue beam skimmed the woman's shoulder, knocking her to the muddy ground. She landed hard, a groan of pain escaping her mouth. The sound of a machine reached her ears. Her hearts clenched, eyes shut tightly._

 _Behind her eyelids she saw corpses. She saw the bodies of all she passed, of the people she ran by for her own safety. All of the children- the families- cradled in each others arms even after death. The scent of blood and burning flesh invaded the air, permanently staining her nose._

 _Dead. They were all dead_.

 _"The Traveler must be contained," the cold, mechanical voice said. Its husky tone penetrated her thoughts, clearing it like a strike of lightening. Terror filled her. She refused to turn around._

 _Swollen fingers clutched damp, dead leaves on the ground, pulling at pieces of red grass. Another shot rang out, electrocuting her side. Her battered body spasmed. Short screams vibrated throughout her throat. A coppery taste painted her tastebuds, filling her mouth._

 _"The Traveler is contained. The Traveler is contained!"_

 _The woman spat the blood from her mouth. She could feel it, an overwhelming paralysis locking her limbs. Golden fumes seemed to wave from her failing body, misting and changing. Her eyes hardened, rage igniting like a new flame._

 _"Transport ready!"_

 _She squirmed, struggling to move her body. Arms twitching, pained gasps escaping her bloodied lips, she rotated slowly on her stomach. Glare set, impossibly cold and dark, she looked up to her enemy._

 _"Victory for the Dal-"_

Alexa gasped, startling awake. She sat up quickly, blonde hair splaying around her in a flurry. Her blue eyes searched frantically in a daze, taking in the desert expanse around her. A loud snore came from beside her, catching her attention. An older man lay next to her, curled in a sleeping bag: her father. Alexa sighed with relief, hand unconsciously traveling under her pillow, clutching an object tightly. She flinched, startled by the coolness of metal. She pulled her hand up, still grasping it tightly to her palm.

Alexa brought the golden pocket watch close to her single beating heart, silently listening to the hushed whispers that only she could hear.

"It's just a dream," She soothed herself, closed her eyes tightly.

 _"It's just a dream."_


	2. A Brand New World

Shallow gasps of cold, crisp air dried the panting woman's throat as she struggled to collect air in her frenzied panic. It surely wasn't the first time she had run for her life, her heeled boot slipping and sinking in soft, muddy ground, especially with her knowledge so limited of her surroundings. No, it wasn't the first time she had ran blindly through heavy fog, or even with violent strangers chasing her. It wasn't even the first time she had been stranded, forced to venture into the misty unknown by herself. But as she could hear the thunder and roar of stampeding men behind her, as her clothing caught on the trees and roots and rocks around her, it did nothing to soothe the overwhelming fear that always coursed through her veins. Martha Jones was no veteran of parading upon alien worlds and eras, for she had only been on a few trips, but she had seen enough to understand that any adventure could be her last. Forced to run, without her beloved travel guide, it seemed that- once again- her fate was far from her knowledge, as was her endangered safety.

Violent screams grew louder behind her, shouts of anger and rage pounding in her ears as loud as the music echoing upon the distant hills. Bagpipes, Martha had guessed, wincing from their shrill cry. Her heart quaked with the shake of the earth, the stomp of the men's feet rivaling that of a herd of horses. Or maybe there were horses, she hadn't gotten a close enough look before she had bolted. Dark hair sticking to her glistening skin, the damp humidity suffocating her almost as fast as her poor cardio, her wide eyes searched desperately for a place to hide. There was nothing but the trees and cluttered brush- and even that, too, would soon come to an end; a flat valley of green waiting on the horizon of her fearful gaze.

A bellow howled too close to her left, startling her into a misstep. A blessing, perhaps, as the blade aimed for her head instead pierced her arm as she stumbled. A pained cry leaving her lips, Martha ducked her head and attempted to roll away, missing yet another swipe from the blurry man standing just above her. She staggered into a stand, her leather-clad back pressing into the bark of a tree. Terrified eyes, opened and sparkling with unhidden fear, stared at her red-faced attacker. His legs were hidden by stained stockings, a plaid kilt swaying at his knees. He wiped at his bearded mouth, taking up mud with his loose crème shirt. Martha eyed her assailant's steel sword, aware of every glint that reflected off its flat blade. She could only stare as neither made any move, hoping for an escape to present itself before her life was inevitably claimed.

Their brief stalemate was broken by the bearded man's barking holler, his body jumping into violent action quicker than Martha thought she could dodge it. His sword raised high above his head, aimed solely for her own, it seemed her life flashed before her eyes. She believed she was going to die, in that foggy forest God knows where, that she would perish alone and afraid. Martha believed she would be killed painfully, horribly, and her family would have no idea otherwise; it would have been as if she disappeared, or worse if they believed she had run away and abandoned them. But, as her breaths slowed and her eyes squeezed shut, perhaps that was indeed what she had done. She had run away from them all in favor of traveling the universe with a stranger, a man full of darkness and beauty.

A foreign shout and whinny pried Martha's glued eyes shut. With bile rising in her throat, she watched as a tall, dark stallion leapt in behind her attacker. Its hooded rider brandished a sword, swinging down hard and fast as the horse galloped past. Martha let out a strangled gasp as she watched the bearded man's head leave his shoulders, falling and rolling with a sickening thud. The headless body leaned forward, tipping horrifying slow and spattering to the forest floor. Martha openly gagged, her nose overwhelmed with the smell of blood and the gross memory replaying in her head.

She let out a shriek as the horse circled back, pressing herself to the wood of the tree as tightly as possible, as if in any way it could hide her or protect her from harm. Although her life was saved from the man, Martha had no doubts she had no allies in this new world- she would not trust a stranger who beheaded someone in front of her. Her eyes watched as the horse halted in front of her, its feathered feet dancing impatiently under him. She trusted the wild look in his eyes as much as she trusted the mysterious figure sheathing their bloody sword atop him.

"Cabhag," The stranger called out to her. Martha's eyes fluttered at the feminine tone, for the first time truly taking in the small figure saddled proudly above her. "Thoir thairis do cròg. Cabhag."

"I- I don't," Martha stuttered. She flinched as shouts grew louder behind, causing her to turn in panic. The stampeding mass behind was bound to be close, too close- all of them surely as violent as the first she encountered. She jumped as the hooded woman shot her hand out, palm up and empty. Martha then understood her meaning, and her impatience, but was still too wary. Her eyes glanced down to the dead man still bleeding at her feet.

"Còrd," The woman begged Martha, shaking her hand in hurry. Another raged shout caused even the stallion to jump, furthering her pounding heart and pushing her to make a snap decision.

Martha jumped forward and grabbed the mysterious woman's hand, allowing her- much to the traveler's surprise- to easily lift her up and onto her horse's back. With little more than a harsh command uttered in a foreign language, and a swift kick of her legs, the mount beneath them sprung with power and raced into a gallop.

Looping her arms awkwardly around her supposed savior's waist in fear of falling off, Martha Jones could only sit and wait as the wind hit her face, hoping and praying that she had made the right choice, and that hopefully her travelling companion was perhaps fairing any better.


	3. Highlanders Aren't Human

Roughly pushed, the man stumbled into a wooden post. Teeth gritting in barely concealed rage, his wince barely recognizable over his burning eyes. His short, brown hair was limp and damp, the perspiration rolling off onto his freckled cheeks. Hands bound behind his back, rope rubbing into his pink flesh mercilessly, pockets emptied of any tool capable of saving him. He watched as his threats fell on empty ears, his hearts pounding with guilt and uncertainty and wonder. Around him, woman in heavy, layered dresses whispered and muttered, and men in kilts and dated clothing grunted and glared. He had to fight his childlike excitement with the true reality of his situation- captured and possibly put to death; and even worse, the sight of his companion crying and shaking as he yelled for her to run for her life. He had seen the group that had gone after her, the men heavy with blades and bloodlust. He could only hope she found somewhere safe to hide and wait for him to figure a method of escape.

Old eyes, tired from strain and strife, gathered his surroundings with suppressed curiosity. The mud soaking the ground was trampled and marked, dragging and staining the bottoms of every woman's skirts. The buildings were all made of stone, small and peasant. He watched as wagons and horses trafficked across the court-yard, all leading to the main entrance of the castle hanging over them. He listened closely to the lively language and blowing bagpipes, his mind immediately jumping to the improbable conclusion that he was trapped in Scotland; the highlands of 18th century Scotland. Although he felt rather overjoyed by the prospect, the unlikelihood of it being true and his impending situation kept him from growing a smile.

A small group came marching up to him- a man, flanked by four others. They all held swords at their waists, badges of honor pinned to the plaid sashes across their chests. The leader, as he presumed, stepped up into his space, looking down his nose at him. His face was clean shaven, the rest of his body more spotless than any other in this place.

"Who are ye?" The leader interrogated, his grip pointedly adjusting his sword. The bound prisoner's gaze flickered down to the movement, but did not falter at it- his ire only sparking further at the attempted intimidation.

"I am the Doctor," He spoke with gritted teeth, tugging angrily at his tied hands, "and I command you to release me at once-"

The Doctor's words were cut off by guffawing laughter, the leader throwing his head back in overexaggerated motion, "Look, lads, the prisoner believes he can tell me what to do!" The men behind him laughed, even a few straggling villagers joined- but The Doctor was unaffected; his paranoia of something amiss only deepening at the look in everyone's eyes.

The leader rocked forward, his sword clanging as he unsheathed it, holding its sharpened edge to The Doctor's throat, "Now ye listen here, I'm the Laird of this land- head of clan Mackenzie. Ye don't get to order me around, ye ken?"

The Doctor only narrowed his eyes, "No, you're not. You're not even human- so what are you?"

The laird regarded him carefully, chilled blue eyes flickering from his clothes to his blazing eyes, "Aye, a perceptive one, are ye? But I could say the same to ye, Doctor- ye are as human as I."

"Where are we, what planet is this?"

The Mackenzie smiled cruelly, "Earth. Or, at least, the last Earth ye and ye bonny lassie will ever ken."

The Doctor's eyes sparked, his body jerking in a burst of rage. His mind jumped to Martha, to his lost and terrified companion; the only reason she was here, the only reason she was being hunted, was because he brought her here- for his own convenience and selfishness. He felt guilt coarse through his veins, the same guilt that always drowned him when his companions were hurt or captured, the same guilt that haunted him when they were forever lost.

"You don't touch her- don't you dare, or I swear I'll-"

"What, Doctor?" The man laughed, "As far as I see it, ye won't even live long enough to see my men drag her bloodied corpse through those gates."

The Doctor's face twisted into a snarl, pulling and tugging furiously at his ropes. He yelled in rage as the group sauntered away, head hanging as his mind swam and fished for a way out. Sonic doesn't work on wood. His hands tugged again, his wrists rubbing raw; he can't break them easily. His eyes rose to look pleadingly, searching for anything- anyone who could help him.

His eyes connected with a small, red-headed boy's. The curls atop his head swayed as he rubbed dried tears off his face, the water mixing with mud. His skin was pale, his arms thin, his clothes rags hanging loosely off his figure. They looked at one another, the moment lasting only a second- but the effect permanent. The boy gave a small wave, a flicker of hope in the timelord's hearts, and he nodded back slowly.

As he saw the small boy meander his way, moving swiftly and carefully to avoid an adult's sizzling ire, he could only hope Martha would manage to remain safe long enough for him to save her.


	4. Blood-stained Beauty

It seemed as if the day's turmoil had barely reached its climax. As Martha held unbearably tight to the billowing cape of the mysterious woman in front of her, her backside aching and bouncing with every powerful stride of their mount, her mind raced with every thought that could occur in her situation. Most prevalent, albeit unwelcome, was the gory memory that occurred only minutes prior; the gruesome beheading of her burly attacker. It was the sickening squelch and limp thud that echoed in her ears, caused her hands to shake. She knew she was in shock, her previous doctor training (although interrupted by her fanciful adventures) at least teaching her that- but her mind nor her body seemed to comprehend a coherent solution; just as her thoughts wandered from her trauma, the pounding of the dark stallion's hooves brought her straight back. Martha knew she shouldn't be surprised anymore- of all the horrifying things she had heard, the screams of innocents as they painfully perished- but the blood that soaked her boots, stained the bottom of her jeans told her otherwise. This, she surmised, was far more terrifying than usual- most simply because the doctor was not at her side. Her safety was in her own hands, and if the throbbing wound on her arm gave any inclination, her hands were not capable ones.

With numb eyes, wincing from the cold biting wind that flushed her face, she gathered the paths they quickly traveled. The horse beneath her pushed with power and rhythm, winding around trees and smartly finding hidden roads. She briefly wondered how a beast could become so loyal, how he could blindly stampede in any direction with only a twitch of the reins, but her question only drowned under more relevant ones; where were they going?

Martha's silent question went answered within minutes of its arrival, her saving grace- hopefully- laying still in a forest grove. A small cottage, built years ago from wood and stone, lay peacefully still amongst thin fencing and grazing animals. With a soft muttered word and a light tug at the reins, the mount beneath them slowed to a walk, almost automatically following a dirt path leading to the small house in the middle of the clearing.

Looking with wonderous eyes, Martha saw the acres of farm land- harvestable vegetables and herbs sprouting from the sowed ground. She saw sheep and cattle grazing, chickens and goats wandering in between. She saw another horse- a mare, she presumed- nuzzling with her prancing foal. It shed a light on her heart- the quiet tranquility that seemed far too romantic to be real; it was like a fire of passion, a small part of Martha yearning for the same ease- but a fire quickly doused as she realized just who she was envious of: a murderer.

Her savior or not, Martha was not completely unaware of just who she was latched onto, and she refused to senselessly let her guard drop just because the mysterious woman's home was quaint. The dark stallion stopped near the front entrance- an unpainted, corroded wooden door- tossing his head and pawing at the ground.

"Siuthad," The woman in front of her said, barely pausing before dismounting. Martha felt embarrassedly naked sitting alone atop the horse, forcing her own dismount to be more rushed and awkward than necessary. As her heeled boot finally graced the ground- a relief to her aching backside- her flustered behavior came to an abrupt halt. The hooded figure in front of her gripped her arm with threatening force, half-dragging a wincing and wiggling Martha towards the front door.

"Hey, let me go!" Martha cried angrily, attempting to rip herself away. It wasn't the first time she had been held hostage, but she supposed her current situation was far too different to properly compare it to the other instances.

"Jaime, cùl-taic," The shrouded woman barked over her shoulder. Martha barely acknowledged the faint nicker of the stallion behind, before she was dragged into the dark of the house before her.

The interior, though clouded by shadows, seemed just as simple as the exterior. The ground beneath Martha's shuffling feet was dirt and stone, sparse furniture littering the small space. Roughly, she was shoved down into a stiff, wooden chair stationed by a long table. Wincing as her ribs bumped the chipped wood, her chest heaving with fear and adrenaline, she sat put obediently; she was far too aware of the last who had gone against this hooded woman, and feared she would also share in his horrid fate.

The mysterious figure- who solely drew Martha's increasing curiosity- turned away to an empty fireplace. With ease the woman reached and plucked chopped wood from a large stack, piling the kindling into the hearth. She just as fluently struck a match tucked away nearby, letting it fall and the flames to erupt. The fire was not slow-burning, heat immediately exploding into the small abode and warming Martha's shivering fingers.

Martha watched, frozen in hesitation and slight fear, as the figure in front of her bustled about. She could only watch as the woman brought two more chairs forward, turning and facing them towards the fireplace. She rubbed her hands, noting as they no longer tingled, her eyes following as the mysterious savior brought out a box and bottles of alcohol. Martha felt almost as if she were intruding, staring unashamed at someone who- by rushing about- looked almost as frazzled as she was.

"Who are you?" She found the words leaving her lips before she could catch them. The enigma in front of her faltered in her steps, hands pausing in placing duel cups down. Her hesitation caused something to rise in Martha's chest, nothing similar to the fear that had overwhelmed her earlier, but a pitiful longing for the tight-kept answers all hidden under a hood.

The woman turned to Martha, advancing on her swiftly, speaking gruffly "Bi air chois."

Martha arched her back and pressed into her chair, hoping- if anything- to take back her words and to avoid the conflict she imagined was coming her way. A slight cry left her lips as the cloaked figure yanked her up by her injured arm, dragging her towards the fireplace. Images of torture- anything burning and sizzling- protruded in Martha's mind, causing her to wiggle and attempt to break free with due haste. "I told you so" was chiming in her head, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as she berated herself for her stupidity; never trust someone who beheads another.

It was a pleasant surprise when she was simply dropped off at the chair in front of the fireplace- but her swelled panic was far from soothed. She felt weak as a tear slid down her cheek, felt silly as she flinched when the woman merely sat across from her- but she was afraid; properly scared. She missed The Doctor, as stiff as their relationship was, and she wished he was here beside her to protect her.

"Bean uasal?" The foreign words meant nothing to Martha, but she did not miss the soft tone. Looking over, she eyed a mahogany box laid carefully in the cloaked woman's lap. Mistrust again flickered in her heart, dark eyes scanning every inch of visible skin to give any inclination of what was truly under that hood.

"Who are you?" Martha stressed again, uncaring if the woman could truly understand her. Her body was tired and weary from the pain radiating off her arm, her anxiety weighing heavily on her mind. She was exhausted; done with the running and the fear- her adrenaline waning only to leave a helpless and lost traveler. She needed answers, she needed help. She needed her Doctor.

The woman in front of Martha gave another pause, one of contemplation and hesitancy. Her blood-stained fingers tapped impatiently on the box in her hands, seconds passing by and forming into minutes. Finally, she released a sigh.

It seemed almost ethereal as the mysterious, hooded woman reached up and pulled down her cloak. Light blonde hair, plaited into a high braid- knotted and greasy- dulled blue eyes, a faded echo of what Martha didn't doubt were once shining gems. She was beautiful despite the dirt and the blood staining her round cheeks, despite the battered look that radiated off her body. Martha supposed she had been mistaken earlier when she had regarded her squared figure as confidence; now truly only seeing a scarred warrior.

"What's your name?" Martha hadn't hesitated to recognize that the blonde understood her words- a small gift despite the chaotic mess. It spread hope in her chest, like butter on bread. Maybe she could finally get answers, maybe she could finally be reunited with her friend. At least it was a start, despite the obvious dubiousness glowing in the young woman's blue eyes- and a start was all she needed.

"Alexa."


End file.
